


Pleasure

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Desperation, First Time, M/M, Power Dynamics, Teasing, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Topping from the Bottom, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “I don’t want you to move,” he said, experimenting with his tone, even as he felt the desperate, desirous tremor in his voice. “I’m going to— I’m going to take my pleasure of you.”





	Pleasure

“No, no, you’re— You’re going too— _!”_ Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s eyes went wide, his whole body freezing up. His hands came away from Aziraphale’s hips, spreading in a pacifying motion just in front of his face, and he trembled like one of the leaves of the plants in his flat. Aziraphale fidgeted uncomfortably, feeling a smidgen of guilt. “No, I didn’t mean— I didn’t mean like that,” Aziraphale mumbled. “Not— You’re going too _slowly_ , that’s all. I’m not going to break.”

“Angel,” Crowley murmured soothingly, his body relaxing a little, although his hands still shook. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re _not_ going to hurt me,” Aziraphale said, rather failing to keep the whine out of his voice, and he felt his cheeks flush, but he pushed Crowley in the chest, back onto the bed so that he could straddle him. “I might not have done this before, you know, but I’m not _stupid_ , Crowley, I know— I know what I can, er, that is to say, I know what I can _take_.”

Crowley’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, his pupils dilating just a little bit, and Aziraphale exhaled shakily, wriggling a bit to settle himself in Crowley’s lap. He reached over Crowley for the lubricant Crowley had insisted on, even though he was more than wet enough on his own, and when Crowley moved to take it from him, he slapped his hand.

Crowley’s pupils were almost little discs now, and Aziraphale said, voice quavering, “Put your hands behind your head.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“You heard me, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, and he watched, spellbound, at the way that Crowley slowly moved his palms into position, stacking them behind his head and leaning back into the cradle of them, his gaze never leaving Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale flicked open the cap on the little bottle, wetting his fingers.

Crowley followed his hand as he moved it downward, and gently, his fingers slick, pressed them against his clit. Oh… It felt good, better than the teasing, nearly-there touches Crowley had been threatening as he’d massaged Aziraphale’s thighs, his belly, kissed his knees. Aziraphale was aching with want, feeling himself ready and wetter by the moment, and Crowley was just—

It wasn’t that he meant to tease. He merely didn’t want to _hurt_ , oh, but this was agony all in itself.

Aziraphale pressed on his clit, and gasped, letting his head tip back: hot excitement ran through him like a little shock, and he exhaled hard. When he opened his eyes, he saw Crowley’s hands twitching beneath his head, and said, “Don’t you dare move them.”

“Wouldn’t ever,” Crowley said breathlessly. Aziraphale reached a little lower, leaning forward as he came up on his knees, and he wrapped his hand delicately around Crowley’s cock, feeling it in his palm. It wasn’t too big, really, he didn’t think – he’d certainly seen enough equipment in his life, even without interacting with it, and Crowley’s was hardly of obscene proportions. A little bit narrow, a little long, but… _nice_.

Crowley hissed as the press of Aziraphale’s plump palm, and Aziraphale watched the arch of his back, the way his lips parted to show his teeth, the way his eyes squeezed shut as Aziraphale gave him a gentle stroke, his thumb touching against the head of it. It was _hard_ , much harder than he expected one to be – he’d expected there to be a little more yield in the flesh, like there was around his cunt, but there was scarcely any at all, and as he squeezed it a little tighter, Crowley moaned: the cock gave a little jerk in his hands.

He liked that moan. He liked it most awfully. He should be very pleased to draw out another.

“I don’t want you to move,” he said, experimenting with his tone, even as he felt the desperate, desirous tremor in his voice. “I’m going to— I’m going to take my pleasure of you.”

Crowley _exhaled_ , exhaled so hard that there was a whine in it, his eyes tightly closed, but he nodded his head, nodded so eagerly that Aziraphale’s skin felt tight and so, _so_ hot, and he felt so open, so aching, so _wanting_ … When he lowered himself down, it was wonderful, the feeling of that pressure, the pleasant sensation of being made full, but best of all was Crowley’s reaction, his choked moans, the way he writhed but didn’t thrust his hips up, the way his fingers tightened in his own hair.

Aziraphale pressed his palms against Crowley’s chest, dusted with a fashionable spread of dark hairs[1], and brought his hips down flush against him. “Oh,” he said softly. “That’s nice.”

Crowley groaned.

He experimented somewhat, moving himself around a little until he found the right angle, leaning forward, leaning back, but he found a position that made Crowley’s cock drag at him in a way that made his whole body thrum with a dull, aching pleasure, and he heard himself moan unbidden when he found it. He quickened his pace, then, lowering himself with a rather loud, wet _slap_ against Crowley’s thighs, and he felt a most—

It was a most delightful pressure, building in slow turns in the very base of his belly, muscles tensing, and he brought one trembling hand away from Crowley’s chest, touching it to his clit. It wasn’t easy, to keep up the two focuses at once, bringing his hips down in just the right way, and rubbing at the nub of nerves: there was a sheen of sweat clinging to his body, and his cheeks were flush—

And Crowley was looking up at him with such desperate, snakeish hunger, and Aziraphale came apart.

The tension did not go away all at once: it went in throbbing waves, rushing through him, making his thighs feel as though they were made of jelly, his knees quivering, and his cunt felt so gloriously _hot_ , his muscles clenching about Crowley, and oh, _oh_ —!

The little aftershocks were delicious, ever so decadent did they feel, and Aziraphale shuddered, bringing in his little inhalations, gasping as they were.

“Angel…” Crowley whispered, and he said it so devotedly, oh, was there ever such worship in a single word, such _want_? Aziraphale’s face felt so hot.

“You—” he began, and shivered, then said, “You may take me at your own pace, now. If you like.” Crowley stared up at him, his eyes alight with a flame Aziraphale had never yet learned to fear…

And then he was on him, his mouth bestial in its biting claims upon Aziraphale’s neck, his chest, his hips thrusting so hard Aziraphale felt they might destroy him, and Aziraphale’s moans were swallowed into the serpent’s throat when Crowley dragged him into a kiss.

 

[1] Crowley kept his chest and pubic hair with the same assiduous devotion to current fashions as he did the hair on his head.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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